


Wine, Kids, Track, and the Dead Parents Club

by Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar



Series: Track au [1]
Category: Something Rotten! - Kirkpatrick/Kirkpatrick/O'Farrell
Genre: Track AU, Will is a kid, nigel is a sad high school kid, robin is trans, there's a lot of talk about dead parents, there's some emotional parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-06 05:11:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12810345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar/pseuds/Hiding_in_the_cookie_jar
Summary: Part of an au where Nigel is in high school and runs track. Just a oneshot.Nick is frustrated Nigel doesn't talk to him. Nigel is frustrated that Nick pries so much. Will just wants a drink.





	Wine, Kids, Track, and the Dead Parents Club

**Author's Note:**

> yeahh so i didn't really proofread this but... here it is

“Get that drink out of the kid’s hand!”

Nick glared across the room until an actor grabbed the glass of wine from Will’s hand. Will rolled his eyes. 

“I’ve been legally drinking in England for years!” he shouted. 

“You’re not in England!”

“I’m turning 21 in a month!”

“It’s still March!”

Nick felt a little satisfaction from Will’s pout. The other actors, scattered around the room, smiled at him. Will was the baby of the troupe, and Nick would take advantage of that every moment he got. Everyone  _ loved _ Will, and Nick loved seeing him knocked down a few pegs. 

“The other kid is home!”

Nick turned to the source of the yelling and then to the front door. The acting troupe was small, but the apartment was even smaller. Everyone was crammed in, shoulder to shoulder. They didn’t mind. They all knew that Nick’s apartment was--to put it politely--cozy, and they all found little places to perch. 

Despite the room being crowded, Nick still managed to see Nigel above everyone’s heads. He smiled politely at everyone and slid through as well as he could with his lanky limbs and bags. 

“Hi, Nige.”

Nigel adjusted his school bag on his shoulders and gave Nick a look that read: “I’m not a fan of all these people in the apartment, and I just got out of practice, and I need a shower, and there’s just so many people here.” It was mild annoyance. 

“How was school?” Nick asked. 

“Fine.”

“How was practice?”

“Fine.”

And he slid through other people until he got to his bedroom. 

“He doesn’t talk much, does he?”

Nick shrugged. Robin leaned against the kitchenette counter with him, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“It’s just a teenager thing, I guess,” Nick said. “He’s moody.”

“Aww… I wonder where he gets that from.”

“He didn’t get  _ anything _ from me. I’m not his parent.”

“Environmental factors.”

“Then it must be from Bea.”

Robin rolled her eyes. “Of course. It’s definitely sweet, level-headed Bea that’s corrupting this boy.”

“Have you ever considered it’s just hormones?”

“For you, too? I just assumed it ran in the family.”

“You assumed wrong.”

“Admit it, Nick. You get a little moody at times.”

“I do not!”

Robin smirked. She took her glass of whiskey and turned away. Nick huffed. He could justify how annoyed he got. He was stuck with people who annoyed him. He was raising a teenager. He didn’t sleep much. He had money and bills to worry about. He had people accuse him of being moody. 

Nick took his own drink and found a little spot to sit on the arm of the chair Bea was sitting on. She put her hand on the small of his back, listening to the story being told in the little circle they were in. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw Nigel slide down the hall with an arm full of clothes and a towel. The poor thing was so awkward and kept his head ducked. Taking a shower with all of Nick’s co-workers outside would be miserable, but Nick knew Nigel would rather do that than present himself immediately after track practice. 

“How’s Nigel doing in school?” 

“Uh…” Nick looked to Bea. “Good.”

“He’s doing great!” she said, eyes full of pride. “He’s doing pretty good in his chemistry class, and of course he’s getting an A in English and history.”

“He doesn’t tell me anything,” Nick said with a shrug.

“You could look at his grades from time to time.”

“How do I do that?”

“Online.”

“What?”

“Oh my god.” Bea patted his shoulder. “I’ll teach you.”

“Why do you know this and not me?”

“He brought something home from school about it, Nicky.”

“He brings stuff home from school?”

Bea shook her head--maybe in mild aggravation. She went on to brag about Nigel. Nick listened with half an ear as she told everyone about some stuff Nick knew and some stuff Nick didn’t.

He hated that Bea knew more about Nigel than he did. He was supposed to be the one taking care of Nigel. Not Bea. Nigel was  _ his  _ responsibility, and he was failing. He didn’t know anything about what Nigel did after school. He didn’t know any of Nigel’s friends--if he even had any beside Portia. He saw Nigel’s report cards, but he didn’t know anything about his classes. He could brag about Nigel’s GPA, but he could never say how well Nigel was doing on tests or if he was enjoying school. 

Bea knew it all. And in a way, Nick was happy that at least one of them knew what was going on. At least Nigel wasn’t being neglected totally.

* * *

 

Nigel showered as quickly as he could and changed into decent attire for the little party outside. He was used to the little get togethers Nick always had when the troupe signed a new contract for a new show. It was exciting, but sometimes they were a bit much to come home after school and see a sea of people in his home. 

Nick liked to socialize. Nigel didn’t, and sometimes he resented Nick for the difference. He was always pushing Nigel to talk to people he didn’t know. He made him talk to workers in grocery stores when they couldn’t find something. Nigel wasn’t comfortable with a lot of people, and he was only willing to talk to people he liked. He had tried learning small talk, but it never worked. It took him forever to warm up to the troupe (he was forever thankful the company didn’t hire many new people frequently) and talk to them. They felt like a family in a way, but Nigel still didn’t like having them outside the bathroom as he showered. 

He went to the kitchen, mumbling pardons as politely as he could as he tried getting to the fridge. 

“Was school okay?” 

Nick had followed him. Nigel grabbed a bottle of water and held back a sigh. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I already told you.”

“You said it was ‘fine,’ and ‘fine’ can mean a lot of things.”

“It just means ‘fine.’ Nothing happened. I went to classes, I ate lunch with Portia, I went to more classes, and I went to practice. Now I’m here. Is that enough for you?”

Nigel didn’t always know why he was short with Nick. Sometimes he just sounded angrier than he actually was. He couldn’t keep the bite out of his voice, and he didn’t realize how harsh it was until he saw Nick’s eyes darken. 

“Knock it off,” Nick said, voice low. 

He took a step forward and put his hand on Nigel’s wrist. It wasn’t rough, but it was obviously a warning. 

“I’m tired of the attitude, okay?” Nick went on, keeping his voice hushed but still stern. “Especially right now in front of the entire company. Just… knock it off.” 

Nigel’s cheeks burned. Partially out of embarrassment and partially out of the anger that came from the embarrassment. He hated Nick’s little lectures. They were always about what Nigel needed to stop doing, and he could never get a word in.  

“Fine,” Nigel mumbled. 

He wanted to make another snide comment about what “fine” meant, but he bit his tongue. 

Nick’s eyes softened again. He let go of Nigel’s wrist, and his shoulders slumped. 

“You don’t have to stay out here if you don’t want to,” he said. “Or you can invite Portia down.”

“She has her youth group tonight.”

“Are you hungry?”

Nigel shook his head. “Not really.”

He also hated how quickly Nick changed the subject after the lectures--to some sort of checklist. Was he hungry? Was school okay? Does he want a friend over? Is there anything he wants to talk about? Nigel knew that Nick was doing his best trying to be a parent, but Nigel wanted to scream at him that he didn’t need to be a parent. 

“Do you want to give water to Will?” Nick asked. His lips turned up slightly. “He’s pouting because I took his wine away.”

“Wait, can I have wine?” 

“No! You’re 17.”

“Will’s not legal, either!”

“I didn’t  _ let  _ him drink. Besides, he’s an adult, and I’m not his guardian. You’re a kid, and if you get caught with alcohol you get sent to a foster home. Go give him water. Try to socialize with him.”

Nigel grabbed another bottle of water. “Why me?”

“You’re close to his age. And you get a little twinkle in your eyes when you’re near him.”

“I do not!”

“You so do!” Nick grinned. “It’s like you have a crush on him.”

“Shut up.”

“You’re blushing!”

“I’m not!”

Nick shoved him lightly. “Just admit it.”

Nigel smiled. Not because he enjoyed the teasing but because he enjoyed the brotherly moment. 

“He has a girlfriend, Nige.”

“I do, too!” 

“Oh no! Portia is going to be heartbroken.”

Nick tried feigning concern but smiled too hard. 

“You’re a terrible brother. I’d rather be in a foster home.”

He walked past Nick, purposefully bumping into his shoulder. 

“I’ll call your social worker tonight,” Nick called after him. 

It was awkward taking a seat next to Will. He might have only a few years older than Nigel, but he seemed much older. He had his life together. He was a great actor, great writer, and Nigel admired him. Maybe more than he admired Nick. But Will had a tendency to be a little cold. He was volatile, and Nigel never knew how he would react. Sometimes he was nice and talked to Nigel about whatever subject they could find. Other times, he was just silent. Probably too good to talk to a high school kid. 

“Nick told me to give you this.”

Will huffed and took the offered water. “I hate him.”

Nigel smirked a little. “He just doesn’t want you drinking here. He doesn’t want to be the one responsible.”

“What’s the worst that could happen?”

“We have crazy neighbors,” Nick said, butting into the conversation and sitting around the small circle. 

“One crazy neighbor,” Nigel corrected. “Upstairs.”

“I’m not your child,” Will said, glaring at Nick before taking a swig of water. 

“Everyone is Nick’s child!” an actor, Michael, said with a wide smile. “He’s the dad of the group.”

“I’m the only one that’s responsible,” Nick said. 

There were protests from all around--even from people outside the circle. Nick tried hushing them before they got too loud. 

“Nick! I forgot I have something to show you!”

An actor that Nigel wasn’t very familiar with darted across the room as fast as he could with people in the way. He grabbed his messenger bag from the kitchen table and dug around in it until he pulled out a thick stack of papers. 

“The producers want us to look at this,” he said when he sat down again. “They said to just think about it for a few weeks and get back to them about whether or not we would be interested in it at some point.”

“You haven’t started this show, why are they giving you another one?” Nigel asked. 

“Oh, thanks,” Nick mumbled, flipping through the script. “You have such great faith in us.”

“I didn’t mean it--”

“I agree with Nigel,” Will said. “Maybe they think we’re going to flop in a few weeks.”

“No!” the actor said. “They said it’s a very rough draft, but they wanted to give us first dibs if it ever gets completed.”

“Who wrote it?” Will asked. 

Nick handed him the script. Nigel peaked over to catch glimpses of the writing. 

“Some new person,” the actor said. 

The others were starting to slow their own conversations and listen in. 

“I don’t know if they have connections with the producers--”

“I’d put my money on it,” Will said. “They don’t let us write our own shit. Why would they some new person in?”

“We need better producers,” Nigel heard someone mumble. 

“I think it’s okay,” Will said with a shrug. “At least for a rough draft.”

“It better be very rough,” Nick said. “We should pass it around and vote on it, but I don’t think we’ll accept it until we see something closer to a final draft.”

“You mean  _ you  _ won’t accept it,” Will said. 

“Right. It’s funny, Will. It’s like I’m the head of this troupe or something and get the power to make executive decisions.”

“Why even bother voting?”

“Because I still make decisions by that.”

“Children! Children!” Bea shouted from across the room. “Stop fighting or take it outside.”

Nigel hid a smile behind his bottle. The annoyance on Nick’s face made Nigel love Bea more than he ever did before. 

“We’re not fighting!” Nick shouted back. 

“Yes, you are!”

“You are,” Nigel agreed. 

“Don’t you have homework to do?” Nick snapped. 

“Don’t kick the baby out!” Robin said. 

She sat next to Nigel on the couch and pulled him into her chest. She was the best actor in the company in Nigel’s opinion. She always made him laugh, and she was the nicest to him. If anyone took him in such a strong hold, he would have tensed up and tried getting away. But Robin had earned his trust. She was always careful around him, and they had reached the point to where she could hold him for as long as she wanted. 

“He can do homework later,” she said. “He’s smart. It won’t take him long. Besides, he just got here, and we’ve been ignoring him this whole time.”

“Okay, first: he’s not a baby,” Nick said. “Second: we haven’t been ignoring him! He hasn’t stopped talking this whole time.”

“Well,  _ I  _ haven’t heard him say a word yet. Nigel, how’s school going?”

Nigel was starting to resent that question. “It’s fine.”

“Are you doing theatre still?” 

Nigel saw Nick’s eyes light up, and his stomach sank. 

“Can I tell them now?” Nick asked, grinning from ear to ear. 

“Yeah…”

“He’s the lead this spring!” 

Robin jerked him away to look at him. “You’re kidding me!”

Nigel shook his head. Everyone close around congratulated him, but he couldn’t thank anyone since Robin was suffocating him with another hug. 

“We’re so proud of you!” she said, louder than necessary. “You’re going to be just like your brother! Oh my God! We should all see you. When is it?”

“It’s not for another couple months,” Nigel said, pulling away. He could feel that his face was flushed. “Rehearsals haven’t even started yet.”

“You’re so talented,” Robin said, putting a hand to her chest. “Nick and Bea must be proud.”

“We couldn’t be prouder,” Nick said. 

“Your parents would be just as proud.”

And Nigel felt like a bucket of ice water was dumped over him. 

Nick could talk about their parents. Nigel had a little trouble. He knew the troupe didn’t know better, but it didn’t make anything better. 

He looked to Nick, whose smile had vanished, in a desperate attempt to find a response. His chest was tightening, and he didn’t want to have a full-blown panic attack in front of everyone. It was eerily quiet. Nigel felt all eyes on him as if they were all waiting on him to react. 

“They would be,” Nick said. “They were.”

He smiled again. 

Robin put his arm around Nigel. She rested her head against his. 

“He’s already applying to colleges,” Nick went on, quick to change the subject. “And we’re sure he’s going to get into his top choice.”

“What are studying?” Will asked, in an out-of-character soft tone. 

“English,” Nigel said. 

“It’s his best subject,” Nick said. “But I’d like to see him do a little theatre.”

“I’ve told you I don’t want to double major  _ and  _ run track.”

“You don’t have to double major. You can just minor in theatre.”

“I’ll see how much time I have with track.”

“Are you being… recruited?” Will asked, trying so hard to be kind. “I don’t know how American universities do sport.”

“Hopefully I’ll be recruited.”

“He has some people looking at him,” Nick said with a gentle smile. “But he has to keep his grades up.”

Nigel scoffed. “I’m way above the GPA minimum for high school sports, but Nick and Bea have their own GPA set for me.”

“If he drops below a 3.3, he has to drop something.”

“Which reminds me: I got a C on my chem test this week.”

Nick crossed his arms. Nigel understood what it meant. Bea also crossed her arms like that. 

“Right. I’m leaving.”

He heard protests, but he still excused himself. Nick made a comment about academics coming first--which got even more protests. And above it all, he could still hear Robin apologizing.

In the safety of his room, Nigel ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. He’d explain the truth to Nick later. He didn’t really get a C on his test. He just wanted out of the room. 

There was a mountain of homework to be done, but he laid on his bed instead of opening his bag. He didn’t feel like doing any of it at the moment. His body ached slightly from his practice, and he wasn’t motivated to do anything but stare at his phone for a while and maybe doze off.    


* * *

 

Nick knocked on the door before calling Nigel’s name. When there was no response, he cracked it open. 

Nigel was on his side, curled up and fast asleep. Nick didn’t want to wake him. He looked so peaceful, and he probably needed the sleep. But he probably needed dinner more. 

“Nige?”

Nick leaned over and shook his shoulder with as much care as he could. Nigel stirred and blinked up at Nick. 

“Hey.” Nick sat on the side of his bed. “Aren’t you hungry? It’s getting late.”

“Yeah,” Nigel mumbled. 

He rubbed his eyes and sat up. His hair was a mess. It was like when they were kids, and Nigel didn’t know how to take care of the tight curls on his head. Their parents never had a chance to teach him. Nick remembered foster parents ripping combs and brushes through his hair despite Nigel’s cries. He remembered the loads of shampoo they used and the reckless yanking of fingers through the curls. 

Nick reached out and tried flattening a rambunctious cluster of locks. Nigel tilted his head away. 

“What do you want to eat?”

Nigel shrugged. Nick  looked at his lap. For the past hour, he had thought about what Nigel was doing in his room. He hoped it was something productive. Either a nap or studying. He just didn’t want Nigel sitting in his room possibly on the verge of panic or tears. 

“Can we talk?”

“I didn’t actually get a C on my test. I just said that to get out.”

“I know. Bea showed me on that… thing.”

“You mean the gradebook that’s online?”

“Yeah.”

Nigel furrowed his eyebrows together. “Then what do you want to talk about?”

Nick shrugged. He was at a loss of words--which never happened. 

“Just… anything.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know! Something! We never talk anymore.”

“Because you always do this!”

Nick was always quick to stop Nigel when he raised his voice. This time, he let it go. Nigel was probably still groggy from his nap, and he wasn’t looking to start a fight.

“What do I do?”

“You get upset when I don’t tell you every single detail. Do you ever think I don’t have anything to talk about? Nothing exciting ever happens at school. I don’t have that many friends to talk about. Portia is over here all the time anyways. You come to all my meets, and you look at my grades online. What am I supposed to tell you?”

Nick noticed a little hint of color in Nigel’s cheeks. 

“Just tell me how you’re feeling,” he said. “You used to tell me about everything you saw on the way to school, and you used to find something to love in everything. One time you cried because I threw away a leaf you carried home. Why don’t you do that anymore?”

“Cry over leaves?”

“No. That’s not--no. I don’t mean that specific. You’ve… lost your romantic side.”

“No, I haven’t.”

“You don’t ever tell me how you’re feeling. Nige…” Nick took a risk and grabbed Nigel’s hand. By some miracle, Nigel didn’t pull away. “I know that you think nothing is worth talking about, but I love hearing about it. And I think there’s more going on.”

“There’s nothing else going on.”

Nick squeezed Nigel’s hand. “What about when Robin made that comment about mom and dad?”

Nigel looked away. He bit his lip, and Nick watched closely. There was no telling if Nigel was going to get angry or upset or anxious. He was totally unpredictable all the time, but Nick braced himself for anything.

Finally, Nigel’s breathing hitched, and Nick saw tears falling down his cheeks. 

“Hey. Come here.”

Nick moved closer. Nigel turned into him, wrapping his arms around Nick’s waist and burying his face in Nick’s neck.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. Just let it out.”

Nick’s heart broke. He hadn’t seen Nigel cry in a long time. Especially over their parents. He had assumed that it was something Nigel had gotten used to. They had brought their parents up in conversation before, and they were able to laugh. Of course, there were moments when they would get sentimental. Nigel usually asked questions. Nick did his best to answer, and they could have a healthy crying session together. But Nigel hadn’t fully broken down in years. 

“Everything sucks,” Nigel cried.

“What do you mean?”

It took Nigel a minute to speak again. Until then, Nick rubbed his back. 

“School sucks, college sucks, track sucks, my social life sucks, and my brother is raising me.”

“Wait… let’s talk about me later. What’s wrong with school and track?”

“I’m tired of it. I want to get out.”

Nick patted his back. “Every senior feels like that. It feels like high school is stretching on a little too long, right? I guarantee you that’s how everyone feels.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you?”

“Well… yeah. But we were in a tight spot then. I was aging out of the foster system two weeks after graduation, and I needed to find money so I could get you out, too.”

Nigel straightened up. He looked a little calmer, but tears still soaked his face. He sniffed. 

“I remember,” he said. 

Nick reached over and grabbed a few tissues from his nightstand. 

“And I wanted to get you as soon as possible. It was rough. No 18 year old knows what they’re doing.”

“I don’t.”

Nick reached for Nigel’s hair again. Nigel didn’t pull away. 

“And it’s worse because you’re ready to age out, aren’t you?”

Nigel nodded. “I hate social workers. I hate the system. I want to be an adult.”

“We only have a few more months.”

Nick usually rolled his eyes at teens who said they wanted to be adults. They didn’t understand that adulthood meant bills, cooking, cleaning, and learning to do everything at once without a teacher. But for Nigel, he was truly gaining freedom. They wouldn’t have to worry about social services anymore. They wouldn’t have to worry about routine checkups. Nigel would get so worked up thinking about the possibility of being taken away from Nick. It would feel like a weight off of all of their chests.

Nick told himself that as they neared the end, Nigel didn’t have anything to worry about. He didn’t have to worry about being kicking out of his foster parent’s house. He didn’t have to worry about finding a job instead of going to college. He only had to worry about what the average 18 year old worried about. Nick was ecstatic that he was so lucky. 

“And what really sucks,” Nigel said, voice cracking. “Is that if everyone else has these problems, they have a parent to go home to. I just have you and Bea.”

“Hey!”

“I don’t mean it like that.” A smile appeared for a brief moment. “You’re just not my parents.”

“We know.”

“And it’s weird. People still ask me why my mom is so young and looks nothing like me.”

“You’d look so cute with red hair.”

“People don’t understand what it’s like to have both of your parents dead. They’re either too sensitive or don’t care. Portia’s the only one who cares. And a few other people at school who also have a dead parent… We get called ‘The Dead Parents Club’.” 

“Woah, wait.” Nick narrowed his eyes. “Who says that?”

Nigel shrugged. “Everyone, I guess.”

“I’m calling the school--”

“No, Nick, it’s not a big deal.”

“Yes, it is!” 

“We’re handling it!”

“How?”

“We’ve already talked to teachers about it, but there’s not anything they can do really. But Portia’s… starting an actual club. It’ll be like a coping thing.”

“She’s literally an angel.”

“She is.”

“But I still think I should call someone. Does Jeremiah know about this?”

Nigel’s eyes widened. “No!”

“I’ll talk to him if--”

“No! He’s been threatening to send Portia to a religious, private school for years. This’ll push him over the edge.”

Nick pressed his lips together. He wanted to tell Jeremiah despite their rocky relationship. He also wanted Portia to stay where she was comfortable. 

“Fine. But if it gets worse, tell me.”

“I will.”

“If  _ anything _ gets worse tell me, okay?” 

“Okay. I will.”

Nick smiled. He wanted to reach out and kiss Nigel’s forehead and cup his cheeks. But he knew Nigel wouldn’t allow it. Not forever but just then, when he was caught between being too young and too old. Nick could wait, though. He could wait until Nigel was ready again. 

“You can come to me, okay?” he said. “If you just need to talk. Anything good or bad. I’m your brother before your guardian, and I want to talk like we used to.”

Nigel lowered his head and nodded. “I’m just scared.”

“Of what?”

“You have to tell the court everything, right?”

“Well…” Nick smirked. “I think that some of my duties as your older brother trump the duties the court wants me to have.”

Nigel scoffed. “Okay.”

“Okay.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah.”

Nick stood up and took Nigel’s hand. He lead Nigel out of the room and out to the living area. The scent of pasta cooling in a colander and sauce warming on the stove filled the small apartment. Bea was trying to tidy up the living room, picking up empty glasses and collecting a tidy congregation of empty wine bottles on the kitchenette counter. 

“You two okay?” she asked, definitely noticing Nigel’s red eyes and Nick’s tight hold of his head. 

“Yeah,” Nigel said. “We’re fine.”

 


End file.
